


Prying Eyes Beneath Elven Bandanas

by noalinnea



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noalinnea/pseuds/noalinnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl likes to watch. But he is not aware that he is being watched as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prying Eyes Beneath Elven Bandanas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afra_schatz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afra_schatz/gifts).



> This is pure fiction. The characters in this story are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended.
> 
> Written for the 2012 [Sons Of Gondor](http://sons-of-gondor.livejournal.com/) _Trick or Treat Exchange_
> 
> Beta: Wonderful *kalypso. Many thanks!

 

 

  
Karl likes to _watch_.

Both in a professional way and in a rather unprofessional one.

When he first got into acting, he spent whole nights holed up at home with a bunch of his favorite movies on VHS and replayed the tapes until they stopped functioning. By then he knew every line, every gesture and every change of expression by heart.

For him, the key to being a good actor is being a good and avid watcher. And maybe the part of Eomer is not the most extensive one in film history but it provides him with the opportunity of watching people like Ian, Bernard or Viggo work, and he is incredibly thankful for being a part of this unique project.

When he is not filming himself or trying to perfect his sword wielding and horse riding skills (and especially the combination of both), he is hanging out on set, somewhere amidst the crew, just observing, just watching, sucking up all the details like a sponge to replay them later in his head. It’s not as thorough as the VHS procedure but it’s a great opportunity to learn about the craft of acting.

That’s what he refers to as the “professional” part of watching.

On a level of personal entertainment he likes to watch his cast mates as well when the cameras aren’t rolling. Always has, probably always will. He likes to see friendships form and break, likes to witness courtship and rivalry, camaraderie and perfunctory working relationships.

The Ring set is perfect for this type of watching, because it brings together so many people from all corners of the world in the middle of nowhere under these intense working conditions. It’s like a cold buffet and sometimes Karl feels giddy because of all the watching opportunities this microcosm provides him with; it’s not always easy to choose where to direct your attention. Take any regular lunch break, for example: The Hobbits are chasing each other through the canteen while John and Miranda are swapping apple pie recipes, Viggo is drawing the view from the window onto the paper table cover (or directly onto the table if nobody (Sean) stops him in time), and Orlando is (very carefully and with an adorable frown of concentration) pulling a bright yellow bandana over his head in an attempt to keep Legolas’ hair out of his lunch, successfully on some days, not as successfully on others. There are so many things to see that a life time wouldn’t be enough to take them all in.

Take _Viggo_ , for example.

Karl is sure that he could never tire of watching Viggo, not in _three_ lifetimes. One can’t but admire his working ethics and dedication to this project. His ability to _become_ Aragorn and concentrate exclusively on the scene he is working on at any given moment, his never wavering focus,  his willingness to completely surrender himself, his off screen persona, to the requirements of the working process, and his almost inhuman patience towards retake after retake, no matter if there is the need to adjust the lighting or the camera angle or if a younger actor like Orlando needs another take to get things right, Viggo never seems too tired to offer his support.  And then, at the end of the day when Aragorn is resting, there is so much more to Viggo- his art, his love of nature, the fascinating and weird conversations you can have with him in a quiet moment, especially now with Sean back home in England.

_Sean_.

He hasn’t seen as much of him as he would have liked. Or maybe heard. This voice, this accent. It has made Karl want to close his eyes and have him read the phone directory or the menu or anything written within reach. Probably alternately with Orlando, whose soft, melodic accent more than once has made Karl want to beg him to repeat his last sentence, just to hear it again. He has a hard time deciding which accent he loves more. While trying to decide about this he has of course been watching Sean, too, but there have been those incredibly private moments that Karl has felt guilty for noticing because clearly they weren’t meant to be shared with the world. The way Sean’s throat seemed to tighten at times when he looked at his King, the way they always seemed to gravitate towards each other in quiet corners to share a smoke in silence, shoulders or knees or arms touching or all of the mentioned body parts, both so obviously comfortable in each other’s presence that Karl has always hurriedly directed his attention elsewhere, trying to grant them privacy.

Many times he has then focused on _Ian_.

Ian is almost as enigmatic as Gandalf though his eyebrows are a lot less bushy. He combines the manners and appearance of the perfect elderly English gentleman with the mischievous mind of a sixteen year old with a fondness for juicy jokes- and he is as perceptive as a mother hen. On any bad day of yours he can pop up next to you out of nowhere and place a reassuring hand on your arm. He then looks at you closely and asks in his quiet, concerned voice what is bothering you, and you are bound to spill your guts and tell him everything, literally everything. He is an amazing listener and gives great advice. Naturally, he is also the best informed person on the whole set. And sometimes you wonder if your secrets are as safe with him as you have thought they were.

When _John_ smiles at you in his peculiar, knowing manner the next morning, for example. More than once Karl has heard Orlando complain under his breath that the long-tongued wizard has divulged his secrets to the nosey dwarf and Karl has guarded his tongue well around both of them ever since. John is Karl’s personal hero though. He is sure that he would have made a run for it ages ago and hidden somewhere safe where make-up never would have found him ever again. The skin is flaking off his face, his eyes are forever red and swollen and he must have caused the sales figures of anti-allergic medicine in New Zealand to spike considerably by then, and yet, he never loses his patience or his good humor.

That’s the dwarf. In Karl’s head the dwarf comes with the Elf. Maybe because John and _Orlando_ have taken to continuing their constant teasing even after work. Orlando. Unspoiled, enthusiastic Orlando who wears his heart on his sleeve and smiles these smiles, these smiles that brighten your day whenever you are on the receiving end of one of them- of one of the real ones. Orlando smiles readily but he does not smile haphazardly, there are two different smiles in his repertoire, the polite, business ones and the genuine, private ones, the ones that reach his eyes.  Those are the ones that make Karl’s toes curl.  
  
He would rather not have Dom or Billy know about that or he would never hear the end of it.

_Dom_.

It’s hard to stop there without continuing to “and Billy”, they are as inseparable in his head as they are in real life. But Dominic, when you catch him in a rare solitary moment, and he is just Dominic, not one half of the disastrous duo, is great. Quick witted and good natured and thoughtful. He has this knack of quickly digging through your defenses and taking up residency in your heart. But he also has these mood swings and can brood over a thought for hours. Luckily, it usually only takes one firm hug from Billy or one of Orlando’s smiles to restore his cheerful self, though.  
  
 _Billy_ is clever and mind-blowingly funny. His humor has this sharpness to it that causes Karl to marvel constantly. And when he is drunk enough to pick up his guitar in company his voice is breathtaking. He also is very sensitive and readily offers you a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on if needed. The girl who is on the other side of all of these phone calls that cause his voice to soften and make him completely forget his surroundings and stare off into space, smiling, is very lucky indeed.

Hobbit number three _. Elijah_.

Elijah is scarily professional and disciplined for a kid his age and he pushes himself hard, maybe too hard. He is ambitious. But he is easy to talk to and really sweet, and when he once more falls asleep someplace odd, or passes out, actually, he always causes Karl’s protective instinct to stir and makes him go find a blanket or jacket to cover him.  
  
If Hobbit _Sean_ hasn’t beaten him to it, that is. Sean is adorable in his concern for Elijah. He makes sure he eats, makes sure he brings a sweater and makes sure he sits down and rests. Karl wonders if it doesn’t secretly annoy the hell out of Elijah even if he never shows any sign of distress. In any case his fierce protectiveness causes Orlando to roll his eyes whenever he is on the receiving end of his fussing. And Karl can’t help but feel a little sickened sometimes because Sean is so annoyingly American picture perfect, perfect husband, perfect father, perfect friend and such a genuinely nice fellow that you can’t but like him. It makes Karl wonder what’s wrong with him and why he can’t just be happy for Sean.  
  
But he doesn’t see him that much that he needs to sprain his brain trying to figure out where this negativity comes from. Most of the days he is shooting with Bernard and Miranda and he couldn’t possibly have asked for better colleagues, even if a couple of more scenes with anyone from the Fellowship  would have been nice, with Orlando for example, or Viggo.  
  
 _Bernard_ is brilliant. He has liked him from the second they were introduced to each other. Maybe it’s his laughter, Karl thinks, so utterly contagious. It’s erupting from somewhere deep down inside his chest, and when you are sitting next to him on a bench you can feel it reverberate in your body. Bernard has a great sense for timing and he effortlessly offers so many different versions of a scene, sometimes only of one line that it makes your head spin, and Karl seriously doubts that he has ever before learned that much about acting in such a short period of time.  
  
And _Miranda_ , of course. She can flip a switch and go from Miranda to Eowyn in a split second with so much ease and grace that it each and every time causes Karl to stare at her in disbelief. Miranda who is so intimidatingly beautiful and down-to-earth and warm and funny that it makes your heart ache with longing to be the one who is allowed to bring her coffee in the morning and press a kiss to her hair.

Billy and Dom have been initiating a heated discussion as to who looks prettier with their blonde mane, she, Karl, Orlando or Craig. They are taking votes and are keeping track of them on a chart in the lunchroom. It’s a neck-and-neck-race between her and Orlando and the daily announcement of the vote and the obligatory aluminum foil crown with which the winner of the day is presented annoys Orlando beyond belief.  Karl suspects that this fact is Billy’s and Dom’s ultimate motive to keep on doing this day after day after day. Hobbits can be cruel creatures indeed.

It’s a shame, really. Orlando _does_ look pretty with his wig; it accentuates his high elven forehead. Orlando is a handsome guy, all huge brown eyes and dark locks, and he knows that his looks have partly gotten him this role, but he wants to be remembered for his portrayal of Legolas, the elven warrior, and not for his wrinkle free forehead.  Billy and Dom are very much aware of this and are teasing the hell out of him, to steel him for the injustice of the Hollywood business that he might have to face if these movies should be a success, they say.

Karl has voted for Miranda because he doesn’t want to add fuel to the flames, and Orlando really deserves a break, but secretly he admires with how much dignity he wears his ridiculous braids (and his pink cheeks when he is annoyed). He truly has perfected the concept of elven grace- Liv looks like a halting cave troll in comparison. Karl sincerely hopes for her sake that nobody ever is going to tell her that.  
  
Orlando…  Karl sighs deeply and sets his coffee cup on the table in front of him. Orlando over and over and over again. He flops back against the backrest of the couch and thoughtfully scratches his beard while his gaze strays out through the window and takes a walk in the garden. The hedge needs trimming, badly. And he needs to stop thinking about Orlando, just as badly.

He’s not even sure what it is that causes his thoughts to turn back to Orlando with such pathetic predictability. Maybe it’s the tiny beard he likes to grow whenever Legolas’ clean shaven face isn’t needed for a couple of days. Or the way he squeezes his eyes shut when he has to sneeze. Or maybe it’s the tip of his tongue that is showing between his teeth when he is concentrating hard.  
  
Karl runs a hand over his eyes in an attempt to chase away the pictures. He shouldn’t. Orlando is so much younger, and it’s his first production and- he simply shouldn’t. He should go get the hedge trimmer. Probably the kid isn’t even interested. Not in him, not in any other male being within a five hundred mile radius. He has heard him talk about girls and seen him cast admiring glances at the passing-by legs of Lucy from Costumes, Lucy who braids his hair in the morning (she gets those private smiles as well), but he has never heard him talk about men. He looks quite comfortable in Viggo’s embrace, though. But then, it’s Viggo. Viggo’s embraces are nice (the ones that don’t send you crashing to the ground with him) and you can’t fight them, so you can as well enjoy them. It’s what _he_ does, anyway. And apparently so does Orlando. He snuggles into Viggo’s embrace and places a noisy kiss onto his cheek, and Karl has more than once contemplated to simply join them.

Damn it. He shouldn’t. Hedge. Now. Nothing wrong with good old fashioned repression.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
It’s Philippa’s birthday and it’s quite the party, and probably he has had a beer or two too many. He badly needs fresh air and ten minutes on his own. Without attracting attention, he makes his way to the backyard where he slumps down onto the lawn and closes his eyes for a second, trying to clear his head. The night is warm, and the stars are already out, but everything is a little blurry. He sighs and fumbles for his tobacco in his back pocket. He has just started rolling a cigarette when two jeans clad legs appear out of nowhere in front of him, and they are accompanied by a familiar voice:  
“Do you mind if I sit down?”  
  
He feels his fingers freeze in mid-movement when he registers who of all people on the party has found him in the garden but he has enough sense left to just shake his head and smile and Orlando flops down next to him, answering his smile.

“You alright?” he asks, taking a sip from his beer bottle.

Karl nods. “Yeah. Just wanted some fresh air.”

“And probably five quiet minutes with your cigarette,” Orlando says and winks at him, and Karl feels himself shrug.

“It’s fine, I am willing to share. Both the lawn and the cigarette,” he says, holding the fag out for Orlando to take which he does with one of these smiles, the toe curling ones.

Damn it. He even looks graceful when he does something as profane as taking a drag.  
  
Orlando lifts a questioning eyebrow and Karl realizes that he probably has been staring. Stupid beers. He shakes his head and intently watches his hand for a moment that is busy pulling small tufts of grass out of Philippa’s lawn, but from the corner of his eye he can see Orlando’s gaze directed at him, and when he looks back up after a moment’s silent debate, his eyes are fully on him, a peculiar expression to them.  He cocks his head to the side a little, a small smile playing around his lips.

“What?” Karl asks, bravely plucking the cigarette from Orlando’s fingers, and he can’t help wondering if he doesn’t sound a little breathless.

“Nothing.” Orlando’s shrug is accompanied by an easy smile. His eyes travel through the darkness towards the house slowly before they zoom back in on Karl’s.

“I’m attracted to you,” he says quietly, his tone light.

Karl inhales sharply, too sharply, and coughs. His eyes watering, he can’t but stare at Orlando, trying to figure out if Dom will jump out from behind a bush any second and scream “Gotcha!”  
  
Orlando’s eyes are still fixed on him, and he is still smiling. He reaches out to take the cigarette from Karl’s hand, and his fingers brush over Karl’s skin and make it tingle with excitement.

“I know you are watching me,” he says matter-of-factly and Karl’s heart misses a beat while he blushes violently. At least it’s too dark to make out colors, you have to be thankful for the little details life gets right at the first try.

“You are good,“ Orlando continues. “Subtle. But I’m good, too.” He pauses to pull at the cigarette. “You like what you see?” he asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.  
  
“An Elf and the heir to the throne of Rohan conspiring in a dark corner in the middle of the night,” a voice from halfway across the lawn startles Karl and prevents him from answering.

“What am I to think about that?”

It’s Dom who grins at them over the rim of his glass. “Am I interrupting anything?” he asks while he sits down between them without waiting for an answer. Not that Karl would have been able to offer an intelligent one.

“Nah,” Orlando shrugs. “I was just trying to seduce Karl,” he says, winking at him, and his lips twitch in amusement, and then he throws back his head and laughs, and Dom laughs with him, and Karl tries to as well, he is an actor after all, an actor who is utterly thankful for the shadows that hide his crimson complexion and his hard-on.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
He has tried to retreat in a dignified way, confused, his head spinning, and has excused himself under the pretext of heading to the bathroom which he then has done in want of a better idea. He has sprinkled cold water on his face, his wrists and the floor and stared at his reflection in the mirror for minutes, dazed, his mind reeling and his heart racing, until Viggo has threatened to kick in the door if he doesn’t come out immediately and lets him pee, [colorful swear words in Danish, he guesses].  
  
On his way to find some food to counterweigh the alcohol, he has walked into Miranda who has recommended the potato salad, and he is at his second helping and listening to an anecdote Ian is telling when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“ _Meet me out front in 15. My place or yours?_ ”

Half a plateful of potato salad slides off his plate and onto the floor, and next to him Sean sighs and produces a packet of paper handkerchiefs from his pocket, then bends down with another sigh while Karl blankly stares at his phone, lost.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
He has been standing in the hallway for ten minutes, contemplating his options, his heart rate that high that he can hear the blood drumming in his ears. He still isn’t sure if Orlando is serious or if not the hobbits are messing with him, big time.  
  
With trembling hands he opens the door and steps out into the night. There is a cab waiting across the street, and Orlando is leaning against its trunk, arms and legs crossed. When he sees Karl approach a smile chases over his face and he takes a step towards him.

“I was hoping you would come,” he says quietly.

“I was hoping you were serious,” Karl answers, and his eyes are closely scanning Orlando’s features. He meets his gaze easily and his smile is deepening.

“Oh, I am,” he says, and his voice has dropped a register.  He reaches around Karl to open the back door for him, and Karl slides into the seat, dazed, and hears himself give his address to the driver. What the hell?  
  
But Orlando, who has climbed onto the seat behind the driver’s, just smiles at him and nods, apparently satisfied, and in the half dark their eyes meet in silence. Orlando is close, their elbows are almost touching, as are their hands that are resting on the empty seat between them, and Karl can smell Orlando’s cologne, and suddenly he is incredibly nervous.

But he could just take Orlando with him to his place and offer him a drink, couldn’t he? Just a drink- they don’t have to- not necessarily- it wouldn’t-  
  
Orlando’s voice interrupts his thoughts with a remark about the party, classic cab-appropriate conversation topic, and Karl nods distractedly, staring at Orlando’s lips. Orlando lifts a knowing eyebrow and winks and him, and then launches into a story about canoe training. Karl lets his head sink back against the head rest and just listens, trying to wrestle his restless thoughts into submission.  
  
In Orlando’s story Billy and Dom have just managed to capsize their canoe that has held Sean as well, and Sean has offered, not too politely (using a string of British curses Karl has never heard before), to throttle them at the next chance he gets. Orlando laughs, and Karl with him, his Sean parody is brilliant, and then suddenly, a movement catches Karl’s eye. Orlando’s hands are moving. Both of them are creeping up his thighs while the story continues; his hands are white against the dark fabric of his jeans in the dim light in the back of the cab. Karl watches their progress, fascinated, and then one of Orlando’s hands moves to his crotch and he cups himself before he slowly, almost lazily starts stroking the growing bulge in his trousers.

Karl swallows against his very dry throat, unable to form a clear thought, unable to tear his eyes off Orlando’s hand which has proceeded to popping open two buttons and has tugged some fabric out of the way. And then Orlando takes himself in hand. The story halts when his breath hitches just a little bit, and when Karl looks up he finds Orlando biting down onto his lip to hide his arousal. Karl takes the hint and chips in with an anecdote about swords training, and Orlando smiles and continues stroking himself, slowly, and Karl wants to yell at the driver to get there faster, damn it.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
Their eyes meet when Karl unlocks the door, and Karl’s breath catches again at the sight of a flushed Orlando who sports a little dent in his lip from biting it in the cab, and fleetingly he wonders if he is going to lose it right there and then. He takes a deep breath and turns the key, and then he steps into the dark hallway to flick on the lights. He chucks the keys onto the table and turns towards Orlando, literally trembling with arousal. Orlando closes the door behind them and grins at him over his shoulder.

“Anything I should know? Wife? Children? Any younger siblings living with you?”

Karl returns the grin and shakes his head. “Only the two of us, I fear.”

Orlando smiles. “Good,” he says, nodding to himself, and then he levels his eyes at Karl’s and shrugs out of his jacket in one single, fluid motion, letting it drop to the floor behind him before he starts unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, his eyes never leaving Karl’s. Fuck.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” Orlando’s voice is a little hoarse, and Karl’s throat is more than a little dry, and he can’t but nod.

“I thought so,” Orlando says and his shirt hits the ground, and then he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his jeans, and then they are sliding down his legs and he is standing there in nothing but his boxers, his erection visibly stretching out the thin fabric.  
  
“You like what you see?” Orlando repeats his earlier question, his tone playful, and again Karl can only nod. Hell yes. If he only would be able to figure out a way to move. And talk maybe. Nah, screw talking, concentrate on moving.

But Orlando comes to his aid by taking a step towards him. For a moment he hovers there, in his space, apparently scanning Karl’s eyes for signs of protest without finding any, because he presses against him and his hands come up to cradle his cheeks, and then he fuses his lips to Karl’s, and- Christ, the boy can kiss.

He wants this, badly, all of it, and maybe he shouldn’t, but maybe it’s too late for second thoughts, and what the hell, they are both grown-ups.  And there really can’t be any question of him taking advantage of young, inexperienced Orlando. On the contrary, Orlando’s momentum makes him look like a bashful virgin.

He wraps his arms around his body to pull him closer and Orlando is warm in his arms, and then his fingers find his shirt buttons and the buttons of his trousers. In the blink of an eye he is in the same state of undress as Orlando is, and they haven’t broken the kiss for a second.  
  
Orlando’s hands slide up his thighs and Karl feels a shiver run down his spine, and then Orlando closes his hand around him and a moan tears from his throat. Orlando pulls back a little, panting, to look at him. His eyes are dark with arousal and he is gloriously flushed.

“I want you,” Orlando states, then lowers his eyes to watch his fingers trace the outline of Karl’s aching cock beneath his briefs for a moment before looking back up at him.

“I want to take you to your bedroom, now, and fuck you.” His breath is hot against Karl’s lips and his eyes are watching his expression closely.

“You okay with that?” he asks quietly, and his teeth are lightly nipping at Karl’s lower lip while his thumb swirls over the head of Karl’s cock.

Karl closes his eyes for a second and swallows, hard. Hell yes, he is so much more than _okay_ with that. He opens his eyes and Orlando is right there, and he reaches out and pulls him flush against him.

“Yeah,“ he says, and starts rocking his hips against Orlando’s. “If I can look at your face while you do.”  
  
  
+++  
  
  
Orlando clearly has a lot more experience than he has, and knows exactly what he wants. His touches are sure, and he doesn’t hesitate once; there’s lube, plenty of it, and condoms, and Orlando’s gaze is firmly locked onto his when he presses inside.  
  
It’s every bit as uncomfortable as he remembers it and he closes his eyes against the pain, but Orlando’s hand cups his cheek and implores him to look at him.

“Stay with me,“ he rasps and stills completely, and then his lips find Karl’s and his hand wraps around his cock, stroking lightly.

He inches forward and Karl’s fingers dig into his hips while he tries to suppress the urge to push him away and off of him.

“Relax,” Orlando breathes, catching his gaze, his rhythm around his cock steady. “Almost there.”  
  
Karl takes a deep breath and spreads his legs even further, and then he hooks his calves over Orlando’s to give him better access yet.

“Just do it,” Karl says, and after a second’s silent debate, Orlando’s eyes firmly fixed on his, he takes him by his word and pushes all the way in against all resistance.

Karl gasps for air simultaneously with Orlando but for a completely different reason.

“Fuck, Karl, I“- Orlando moans.

“Just… give me a moment,” Karl says between grit teeth, willing his body to relax.

Orlando inhales sharply and lets his forehead sink against Karl’s for a moment when his arms start trembling under the effort of trying to hold himself still and give Karl time to adjust.

“I can use a moment, too. How long since you did this?” he asks quietly.

“Ages,” Karl admits, his cheeks coloring. “And I don’t usually… bottom.”

“Trust me, I can tell. You’re incredibly tight,” Orlando says with a smile.

He nips at Karl’s lip. “You feel amazing,” he adds, searching Karl’s eyes when he grabs his hips and slowly starts moving.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
When he wakes the next morning with a throbbing headache and a hard-on, Orlando is nowhere to be found and Karl sighs and flops back onto the bed again. He isn't sure if he should be disappointed or relieved- it can be incredibly awkward to wake up next to a naked cast mate when the effect of the alcohol has faded. Maybe it’s a smart move on Orlando’s side. No need for complicating things, no strings attached, just a night of fun.

But then the week advances and there is no word from Orlando and he can feel his irritation grow, or is it disappointment? At the same time he can’t but roll his eyes at himself. _Pathetic._

What has he been thinking? If you didn’t talk about things before you took off your clothes then it simply meant that that was it, one time occasion, no need for courtesy or any special treatment, right? Then why does he feel dumped? Why are his cheeks stinging with embarrassment every time he thinks about Orlando and feels his cock swell? Pathetic indeed.  
  
Their schedules don’t match, and all he knows is that Viggo, Orlando and John are running over hilltops somewhere, while he shoots a couple of Rohan scenes with a flock of women with glued on beards, slim shoulders hidden beneath long capes and heavy helmets.

He still is not anywhere nearly as comfortable on horseback as he wishes to be and filming the riding scenes takes up all of his concentration but he is thankful that it helps him forget about Orlando’s hand stroking him for a couple of hours.  
  
  
+++  
  
  
He is sweaty and tired when he dismounts, and there is dust clinging to his lashes and his lips, and every muscle in his body is sore. Irritated he wipes away some stray strands of Eomer's hair from his sweaty brow, only barely able to refrain from ripping the stupid wig off his head.  
  
Somebody comes to take the horse away, and today he doesn’t protest, all he wants is a shower and something to eat. When he turns around the corner to head over to the costumes tent, suddenly there is Orlando there, comfortable in his street gear, smiling brightly, and his stomach dances and his throat constricts and he feels a wave of insecurity wash over him. _Pathetic._  
  
"Hi," Orlando greets, closing the short distance between them, and digs his hands into his back pockets while he keeps smiling at him.  
  
"Hi," Karl echoes, cautious, unsure of what to make of the situation.  
  
"I thought you might want to have dinner with me?" Orlando asks, and Karl can see a hint of insecurity there as well. Great. Welcome back to seventh grade. Maybe he could just pull his hair and make a run for it.

He opts for the more grown-up choice and reigns back his flight impulse.  He tries a shrug and a smile.

“First I need to get out of this wig before I kill someone. Bloody strands keep blowing into my eyes."  
  
Orlando grins and reaches out to twirl a strand of hair around his finger.

"It's because you don't take care of it properly. Ever thought about braids?" he says, winking at him. Karl huffs but feels a smile tug at his lips, the intimacy of the gesture pleasant, and he can smell Orlando's cologne, and all these memories come crashing back down onto him.  
  
"I will have to take a shower, though," he says, stalling, searching Orlando’s eyes, trying to figure out what this spontaneous visit is about.

But Orlando just smiles. "Take your time. I brought a book. Ready whenever you are."  
  
  
+++  
  
  
They are in the car, headed towards Orlando’s place, and he can’t think of anything to say, not anything that matters anyway, and so he just sits there with sweaty palms and listens to Orlando talking about their insane running marathon until suddenly Orlando pulls the car up the side of the road and turns around to look at Karl.  
  
"Is everything alright?" he asks, his dark eyes scanning his face.  
  
Karl nods wearily. _Pathetic_.  
  
"If you'd rather not spend the evening with me I can drop you off at your place, no hard feelings whatsoever, I didn't mean to barge in on you and kidnap you," Orlando says apologetically and Karl can feel himself shake his head.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to hold Orlando’s gaze.  
  
"I was actually glad to see you," he says quietly.

Orlando’s lips stretch into a smile. "Yeah?" he asks, reaching out to brush his fingers over the nape of Karl's neck, eliciting a shiver there. “Suddenly I wasn’t so sure anymore.”

“I was. Am. Whatever.” He sighs and pauses, scratching his brow with his thumb. “Listen, Orlando, I don’t want to make things complicated, but what is it you want? Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time on Saturday, but when I woke up you were gone and now we are sitting here and- what is all of this?”  
  
Orlando sighs heartfelt, a small smile playing around his lips. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. Not yet. It’s why I left before you were awake. I’m not sure what I want. Certainly not a diamond ring, a building savings contract, three kids and a Golden Retriever.”

His smile widens. “But being close to you felt good. As did waking up next to you as a matter of fact. I’d like to repeat that. But that’s really all I have right now. Is that an answer you can live with?” he asks, his eyes anxiously watching Karl’s expression.

Karl feels a genuine smile tug at his lips. "Perfectly," he says, grinning at Orlando. “And who wants a Golden Retriever anyway?”

Orlando chuckles. “Sean, maybe? Hobbit Sean?”

“Possibly,” Karl grins. Picture perfect, blonde kids, blonde dog.

“So,” Orlando asks, his voice still treading carefully. “My place?”

Karl nods, smiling. “Yes. “

 


End file.
